


How to place the blame?

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Flashfic challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-16 16:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14168868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Jack comes back from a ride to find an unexpected visitor.  She seems to have a plan of her own.This fic was written for a March 31 flash-fic challenge, inspired by the prompt words "Brilliant", "Orange", and "Sweat."





	1. Chapter 1

When it was all said and done, the Detective Inspector blamed Jack.

When he’s on the bicycle, it’s just Jack. Jack’s eyes on the road, Jack’s feet push the pedals, and Jack’s hands on the bars. The Detective Inspector is nowhere to be seen. The police officer and his paperwork get left somewhere by the side of the road, a long way away, eating Jack’s dust.

Today, also, Jack’s angry, blasphemous words and thick fingers on the tyre levers, and all the various tools to extract the punctured tube from the rear wheel, and patch it. 

In this manner, Jack’s planned two-hour ride in the cool early morning had extended somewhat beyond his plan, and a tired and frustrated cyclist rolled his wheels into the shed behind the bungalow. 

Jack let himself into the kitchen. He filled a kettle, lit the stove, and sat down to remove the thick-soled shoes and the dusty, sweaty socks. His thoughts were a spinning mix of the humid green landscape flying by at speed, and a mental inventory of the icebox.

The sound of footsteps in the door to the hall grabbed his attention.

He looked up from his bare feet, to a pair of orange sandals, followed by a set of shapely calves, and the hem of an immodestly short linen frock.

“Miss Fisher,” he said to her crotch(more or less).“What brings you here?”

“I rang earlier, and got no answer. I came around to check on you.”

“Does your brilliant mind doubt my competence?” he asked, with some coolness. “I don’t doubt the flexibility of your skills as a detective, but long ride and a flat tyre do not require your assistance.”

“Of course not, Jack.” She smiled and her eyes glittered as she set her wide-brimmed straw hat down on the table. “But I’m here, surely there is something I can do?”

“Miss Fisher, my plans were not terribly complicated.” The kettle whistled, and he stood up, brushing past the lady who only reluctantly stepped away. “I was going to make tea, eat whatever I happened to find in the kitchen, and wash an unreasonable amount of sweat and Victorian dust from my person.”

Jack measured tea into a brown earthenware pot, and poured in water from the kettle. 

“I don’t think you can be of any particular assistance in any of this, so why don’t I telephone you when I am done, and we can discuss whatever it is that you came over to harass me about at that time?”

Phryne looked him up and down. “Of course, Jack.” She smiled sweetly, and did a neat about-face and left the kitchen.

“That was too easy,” he muttered to himself, as he heard his front door open and close.

Jack proceeded to make a considerable racket in the kitchen, in the process of cooking eggs, toasting bread, and stacking several other things on a plate.

Not very much later, the plate was empty again, and Jack carried the last piece of toast with him on the way into the bedroom. He efficiently peeled of the jersey and shorts, and flung them over to join the rest of the laundry.

The linen closet contained one clean towel, which surprised him a little. Jack promised himself he would sort that out after a bath.

A puff of humid air met him when he opened the bathroom door. I’m sure I left that door open, he thought.

Phryne decided that she approved of Jack’s bathroom. The tub was large, and the boiler had provided her with an ample amount of hot water to fill it. There was a hook on the back of the door for her dress and summer underthings, and she had easily found herself a towel. 

Now she lounged bonelessly, with her head against the edge of the tub.

The door swung open, and there was Jack. He looked delicious, disheveled, and somewhat disgruntled. He shifted the towel he carried so it blocked her view.

“You left already!”

“Obviously not. I opened the front door. Then I realized that I could assist you in washing up. So, I closed the door and came in here to draw a bath for you.” Phryne gave him her most alluring smile.

“Miss Fisher, I did not ask for your help,” he replied through clenched teeth. 

“Since when have I done what you asked?” Phyne extended one arm, and applied some soap.

“Good point.” He stalked over to the edge of the tub, and stood, clearly deep in thought. He leaned his head sideways, as if a change in angle would somehow remove the inconvenient lady from his tub. “However, since your plan involves helping me wash, you need to make room for me in the tub.”

Phryne recognised the smirk. Does he think he’s calling my bluff? She curled up, and wrapped an arm around her knees. She gestured at the now-empty end of the tub.

Jack looked at her as if she had an extra head. Phryne smiled back.

He shrugged, tossed the towel to land on the sink, and stepped into the hot water.

“You can start by scrubbing my back,” he muttered as he sat. Waves rolled around in the tub.

“Of course,” she agreed, sliding the wet, soapy flannel across from one sturdy shoulder to the other. “That’s a great place to start.” She applied herself scrubbing the broad surface of this side of Jack. 

“How about an arm?” she asked. He did seem to be relaxing just a bit.

He turned and extended one hand to her. “Who is going to wash you?” he asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another couple of hours. No time to format, here it is. Oh, probably might up the rating while I am here.

Jack folded himself in the unoccupied half of his bathtub, facing away from Phryne, and wondered why the questionable opportunity to share bathwater with a sweaty cyclist hadn’t sent her fleeing.

 

Phryne was full of surprises.  If she wanted to spend her morning carefully soaping him, he would figure out how to cope.  _  It’s not like we’re touching directly.  Although the modesty implied by a hand-size square of damp soapy flannel is likely not worth much _ , he admitted to himself.  He leaned forward to let her apply soap just a little further down his back, and relaxed into the hot water.

 

“How about an arm?”  she demanded, clearly bored with his back.

 

He turned half way, and ended up leaning on one side of the tub, with a leg hanging out into the bathroom.  

 

She looked amazing.  Her smile was casual, as if she was offering him tea and a plate of sandwiches, instead of displaying smooth pale shoulders and a set of breasts suitable for a fan-dancer.   _ Which I really shouldn’t be remembering right now, but it’s too late. _

 

_ She asked for an arm, right? _  “Who is going to wash you?” he asked, holding out a hand for the soap.

 

“I’m not done with you yet, Jack,” she answered, grabbing his wrist and applying soap to a smear of grease on his forearm.   “Don’t worry, you will get your turn!” She looked at him through her lashes.

 

By the time she was willing to hand over the soap, Jack had told himself several times that washing Phryne by licking her like a cat was probably not what she had in mind.

 

Phryne had mixed feelings.  On one hand, Jack Robinson was naked with her in a bathtub.  He was giving his attention to meticulously washing her left leg, and the sensations of his fingers against her skin were exquisitely exciting.  The look in his eyes when he glanced over to her end of the tub was also quite stimulating. 

 

On the other hand, the water was getting cold.

 

“You missed a spot,” said Phryne, pulling his hand up over her knee to the top of her thigh.

There was a short pause, as Jack’s face started with an expression of surprise, offered a very quick smirk, and then licked his lips.  “I didn’t realize how dirty you felt, Miss Fisher.” The low pitch of his voice was making her feel very dirty indeed.

“Will you help, Jack?  There are a few more things that need your attention.”

She pulled her leg  back, and got her feet tucked under her.  She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, and ended up kneeling next to him in the soapy water.  

“Phryne!”  He wrapped one arm behind her to plant one hand at her waist, and wet fingers slid along her jaw and ended up at her hairline.

He pressed his lips gently and carefully against hers. She pressed her body against him, and got to watch his eyes close when she slid her tongue into his mouth.

 

French-kissing a slippery, naked Phryne was almost entirely occupying Jack’s attention, but the cramped position and the increasingly chilly water eventually seemed to require some action.

He slid his hand away from its position at her nipple (when had he placed it there?) and down to her hip.  She leaned away just a little, and quietly regarded him with a hungry expression.

“It might be time to get out,” observed Jack.  “Give me just a minute and I’ll help you dry off.”

She nodded, and made a point to touch as much of him as she could in her climb out of the tub.

He found the flannel and the soap, washed a couple of things that she hadn’t been able to reach, and let the water out of the tub.  Jack observed his wrinkly toes and decided that his feet were not improved by a long soak. 

Phryne was watching him from where she stood, and he realized that once he got out of the bathtub, she’d have absolutely no doubt what he was thinking.  _ Jack, this is Phryne. If she didn’t want you to think about that, she’d have gotten out of the tub about half an hour ago. _

Jack got out of the tub.  Phryne had the towel before he could reach it.  She looked up and down, with a grin that could best be described as ‘feral’.  He failed to suppress a shiver of anticipation.

She looped the towel around his shoulders, and pulled him in to some very thorough kisses, and some half-hearted attempts at drying him off.  He cupped his hands under her bottom, and felt her shift her hips suggestively against him. Yes, that groan was probably him.

 

Jack was leaning against the bathroom wall, and Phryne pressed herself enthusiastically against him.  He was somehow managing to be a perfect gentleman, although a perfect gentleman who was trying to lick the inside of her mouth, massage her bottom, and had what must be a really amazing erection, which she couldn’t get her hands on because he was holding her closely.

Phryne squirmed in his arms, and ended up with her mouth against the hollow above his collarbone, and the warm, damp heat between her legs pressed against one substantial thigh.  She glanced up to see him looking down at her with dark eyes, and his mouth open, fascinated.

“Jack,” she whispered.  “Would you be willing to continue this in your bed?”

His eyes glanced from her, to various places around the now-untidy bathroom.  She was momentarily concerned that he was going to flee.

Jack pushed her away, then crouched in front of her.  Phryne felt herself be lifted onto his shoulders. She pulled in her head and feet, centering her weight above his spine as he carried her into the hall and through another door.  _  I guess he made up his mind. _

 

Jack set her down in the middle of his bedroom.  The two of them were both breathless. Phryne quickly scanned the room, and pushed him backwards towards his un-made bed, hands against his chest.

He sat down, grabbed her hand to pull her with him.  She pushed him some more, and he ended up sprawled flat on his back across the mattress.

And there she was, crouched over him with a hand on either side of his head.

“I don’t deserve this,” said Jack, fighting his urge to pull her body against his.

“You,” said Phryne, her eyes fierce, “learned the wrong thing from school. You wrote ‘none but the brave deserve the fair’ over and over to improve your penmanship.”

“It’s part of a longer poem,” he answered, feeling excessively pedantic.

“It’s part of a lot of bullshit.  ‘The fair’ is a person. No one ‘deserves’ her.  She gets to choose.”

Jack was uncomfortably aware he was being lectured about something by a naked woman.  He hoped this would make more sense soon, and he could figure out what this was about.

“The act of physical love is a gift.  I do not owe it to you, or anyone else.  You don’t need to accept it, but I am offering!”  

“Phryne, please.”  Jack wasn’t sure whether that counted as a whimper, or a moan.  “Yes.”

  
  


“Phryne?”  Jack said to the messy black hair on the top of her head.  “Why did you try to phone this morning? What did you need?”

The lady in question stretched luxuriously, and wrapped her bare arm around his chest.  “Oh, that? I was going to invite you to dinner. Does eight o’clock work for you?”


End file.
